


Searching in the Dark

by stardust_and_sunlight



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Magic, Hogwarts AU, M/M, enjolras is a fckn mess, grantaire is an animagus, there's a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 19:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13325118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust_and_sunlight/pseuds/stardust_and_sunlight
Summary: "There was a cat in Enjolras' study nook."Enjolras needs to study, but the cat is always there. Also, he has a little bit of a crush on Grantaire, and he doesn't know what to do about it.





	Searching in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This started as just one scene that I wrote in 2015. I unearthed it recently and accidentally turned it into the longest thing I've ever completed.  
> Title is from the song [The Greatest Show](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NyVYXRD1Ans) from the musical movie The Greatest Showman, which is wonderful and has consumed me recently. Funnily enough, Hugh Jackman is in it, and his character steals a loaf of bread as a kid and it made me laugh more than it should have.  
> For the entirety of the writing process this fic was called "cat anigans", because I mistyped Animagus and it made me think of the word "shenanigans", of which there are lots in here.  
> Hope you like this, comments and kudos are so appreciated!

 

There was a cat in Enjolras' study nook. He paused in the entrance to the tiny room, frowning at it. It was sitting on the window seat that he liked to sit in to study, looking quizzically at him.

"Go away," he said half-heartedly. The cat simply turned its back on him and lay down. Enjolras sighed heavily.  There were many cats in Hogwarts, and Éponine's in particular was very haughty, and he knew that once a cat had decided to sit somewhere, there it would sit.

He dumped his bag on the floor with a thud and grabbed the book he needed, glaring at the cat as he sat on the floor, back against the seat, opening the book with unnecessary force. It was an interesting extra read that Valjean had recommended him, not needed for the Transfiguration NEWT level course but some background information on a tricky concept, and he'd been looking forward to reading it for a while.

The seventh years had been absolutely swamped with work, homework from every class and trying to keep on top of studying, not to mention extra-curricular activities… it was only October, only a month into the year, but Enjolras wasn't exaggerating when he said that this was the first free time he'd had all week. And now there was a cat on his seat.

It wasn't that he disliked cats. He much preferred them to dogs, who tended to be loud and smelly and in your face and required _far_ too much work, and they were better pets than owls- less practical, but cuddlier- and he found it soothing when they purred, but still. As petty as it was, this was _his spot_.

He doubted many people knew about this place. It was near the top of the astronomy tower, tucked behind a staircase and with the entrance half hidden behind a bookshelf and he'd found it quite by accident- had literally stumbled across it, one day back in fifth year. It was small, really just a tiny part of a room left over when stairs had been expanded Merlin knows how long ago, but the window seat was comfortable and it was always the perfect temperature and it had a wonderful view of the lake and the mountains.

It was a bit of a trek from the Slytherin common room, and usually he was happy studying and relaxing in there. It was familiar after seven years, and comforting in a way nowhere else was. And he loved hanging out in the other houses' common rooms as well, enjoying the differences and spending time with his friends, but sometimes it was all too much. Sometimes he liked to come up here, sit on the window seat and look out at the beautiful castle grounds and read his book and just be blessedly alone. Because no one ever came up here.

Except, apparently, this cat.

Enjolras glowered futilely at it again. It meowed contentedly and sprawled out across the window seat, its tail brushing against the back of Enjolras' neck. He sighed, and started reading, leaning back against the seat. He would have a peaceful reading session, whether or not there was an annoying cat here.

The cat started purring. He tilted his head back, the low rhythmic sound loud and calming. Okay, so maybe the cat wasn't awful. Although he really wished it hadn't stolen his seat.

***

Over the next few weeks, as Enjolras’ workload and subsequent stress levels increased, he found himself retreating more often to the solitude of his hidden room. And more often than not, the cat was there as well. He’d taken to reading out loud to it, finding that the words made more sense when he talked through them.

The cat seemed to enjoy it- or at least, it never left when he started speaking. On the contrary, it would purr, or lean against him, or, if he had got to the little room first and was already sitting on the window seat, the cat would curl up against him, or even (and he considered himself particularly lucky whenever this happened) it would deem his lap a comfy enough pillow, and curl up there, purring quite contentedly. It was the most relaxing thing.

So despite Enjolras’ act, he’d grown very attached to the cat, whose name he still didn’t know. He’d asked it once, more hopeful than he’d cared to admit, but it had just ignored him. It didn’t have a collar, and he’d never seen it with another student or teacher, so he’d just resigned himself to not knowing. He just called it the cat.

***

Enjolras was walking through the castle, mentally going over the list of things he had to do. Transfiguration: some practice on a particularly tricky colour-changing spell, and some reading up on the etymology of the incantation. Defence Against the Dark Arts: an essay on the use of non-verbal spells in combat, and some additional practice doing simple charms non-verbally. Potions: an essay on the Draught of Dreamless Sleep, and how the potency of each ingredients effects the potion as a whole. Charms: nothing, but he could do with going over their most recent classwork. And three translations for Ancient Runes…

He’d started planning his Potions essay in his head, thinking of maybe visiting the library to find some books that might help, and he was so engrossed in thought that he didn’t notice anyone beside him until they cleared their throat.

He started, and looked around wildly. Grantaire was beside him, smirking. Grantaire was a Hufflepuff, one of Enjolras’ friends, but not a close enough friend that they often spent time with each other alone, and Enjolras was just casting about frantically for a topic of conversation, head still full of Potions ingredients, when the other boy spoke.

“You must have been thinking about something exciting, I said your name and you didn’t even hear me,” Grantaire said, laughing.

“I was thinking about the Potions essay,” Enjolras admitted, and Grantaire made a face.

“Urgh. I’ve not started that yet,” he said, nose still scrunched up in disgust. “I take it you’re off to work on that now?” he asked, and Enjolras nodded.

“Yes, I’m going to go to the library to get some books and then I’ll get started. Where are you going?” Enjolras asked, curious.

“I’m going for a fly,” Grantaire said, gesturing to his clothes, which Enjolras distantly recognised as flying gear.

“You’re not in the Quidditch team though, are you?” Enjolras asked, and Grantaire shook his head.

“No, but Éponine is, and she likes having someone to fly with, and I like it too. Clears my head.”

Enjolras didn’t care much for Quidditch, and was _not_ a good flier (it was very much something that couldn’t be learned from books), but many of his friends adored it with a passion bordering on obsession, and he always attended the matches, cheering for Slytherin, or for his friends if his own House wasn’t playing.

“Careful you’re not caught out after hours,” Enjolras warned, as they paused in the Entrance Hall, and Grantaire grinned, clicking his heels together and doing a mock salute.

“Yes, sir,” he said, starting off towards the giant doors. “Enjoy Potions!”

Enjolras smiled after him as he slipped outside, and then shook himself out of his reverie, heading up the stairs to the Library. There was a good book about Magical birds and the uses of various eggs and feathers, by someone called Professor Wu, and he was fairly certain he’d find information about Doxy eggs in it. He’d start there.

***

Enjolras sighed deeply, leaning his head in his hands. It was dinner time, and all of his friends were no doubt wondering where he was, but he’d needed to be alone. He was aware he was being dramatic, and over-reacting, but he’d just had double Defence Against the Dark Arts, and it had not been a good lesson. He was _good_ at DADA, he enjoyed it, Professor Potter was a wonderful teacher…

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t cast a Patronus. Professor Potter had talked them through the theory, they'd written an essay about the technique and the history. They'd studied Dementors, learned about them and about the Patronus. Potter had demonstrated the spell, they'd all practised the incantation, the movement… Enjolras knew everything there was to know about the Patronus and about the dark creature the spell countered. But he _couldn't cast it._

Potter had told them that it didn't matter, that most wizards and witches couldn't cast them at their age and level. He’d said that a working knowledge of the theory would suffice for a good grade at NEWT level, and that they'd return to the spell next term for those who couldn't do it this time round.

Enjolras knew there was no shame in not being able to carry out the spell. The Slytherins shared Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Hufflepuffs, and no-one had managed anything more than a wisp of white smoke for the first week of practise.

But as the lessons passed, interspersed with theory and discussions, more of Enjolras’ classmates made progress with their Patronuses, and Enjolras still couldn't cast the spell.

Éponine, a fellow Slytherin and a friend of his, succeeded in casting her Patronus in the third lesson, a sleek wolf that slunk around the room, looking ready to protect Éponine against anything, not just Dementors. She'd beamed when she saw it, her face lighting up, and Enjolras had smiled to see her so happy.

Grantaire had achieved his shortly after Éponine, a cat that brushed against his legs and bounded around him, sapping to him in a way that made Enjolras think of the cat he saw so often in this very room.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre were in another class, the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors together, and they'd both also initially struggled, but eventually even they'd succeeded, producing a dog and an owl respectively.

But Enjolras kept trying, and kept failing. His classmates were casting the spell and forming masses of white smoke, vague shapes, corporeal animals, and he couldn't get more than a wisp.

He'd stayed behind after class one day to ask Professor Potter for help. Potter had sighed, and then smiled wearily at him, rubbing his head, messy hair falling over his famous scar. He'd told Enjolras that there was no point in rushing it. He understood the need to learn it- he himself had tried with a Boggart and everything- but in that year, there had been actual Dementors at Hogwarts, and he knew that Headmistress McGonagall would never allow that now. He told Enjolras that there was no need to worry, that they'd try again later in the year, that Enjolras was doing brilliantly in every other part of the course and that he shouldn't fixate on this. He told Enjolras to let it go.

But Enjolras _couldn't._

He couldn’t let it go. For his whole school career he’d been able to work hard and achieve his goals, and here was something that no amount of practice was helping him with. He’d been spending his evenings in empty classes, spending every spare second he had on this, and he was still failing.

Enjolras wasn’t sure what would have happened, if he hadn’t overheard a snippet of a conversation between Professor Potter and Professor Longbottom, when he was walking down to the Slytherin common room, and they were heading out to the greenhouses.

“Are you free on Thursday night, Harry?” Longbottom had asked- and it was always strange to hear the professors referred to by their first names. “Hannah’s invited some people round for dinner, should be nice.”

Potter had sighed. “Sorry, Neville. There’s a Boggart in an empty classroom on the sixth floor, and I was planning on showing it to my third years on Friday, so I’ll be trapping it after lessons, and taking it to my classroom, and then I’m overseeing the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice after that. They wanted some tips. Any other night I would,” he added, and Longbottom had laughed, his teasing words lost as they headed out of earshot.

But Enjolras had heard enough, and he stopped dead in the middle of the corridor. A _Boggart_. That would work! In fact, no, that would _definitely_ work. A Boggart would turn into a Dementor, and the pressure might force a Patronus. He ignored the inherent flaws in this plan. This would work.

And so on Thursday night, after dinner, when all his friends were going back to their common rooms, he snuck away to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, hoping that Professor Potter had done what he’d said he would. He could take the Boggart, and return it later tonight before Potter taught his class tomorrow. The door was easily unlocked, and Enjolras entered with his heart in his mouth.

There was a chest sitting in the middle of the floor, ready for the class, rattling occasionally. That was good- it would be easier to transport a chest. He cast a quick levitation spell, whispering the incantation under his breath. The chest floated along in front of him, and he made his way quickly to his hidden room.

When he got there, gently setting the chest down, he sat down and took a moment to think, to compose himself.

He knew that his idea was stupid. After all, he hadn't even told Combeferre, knowing that he would certainly not approve. But he was desperate. He _needed_ to learn how to cast this spell.

His mind made up, Enjolras took a deep breath, raised his wand, and unlocked the chest. It opened immediately, and out came a Dementor.

Enjolras felt his breathing speed up, and he forced himself to focus. He'd been expecting this. He'd _known_ the Boggart would become a Dementor, he'd been expecting this, he'd known this would happen…

But the room was growing cold, and he could feel goosebumps forming on his bare arms, and the despair filling his mind. He focused on his happy memory- his friends around him, laughing…

“Expecto patronum!” he said clearly, but nothing happened. He pictured his friends more clearly in his mind, even as the Dementor drew closer.

It wasn't real, he told himself. Not a real Dementor. It was a Boggart. But it felt real, the awful rattling sound in its throat, the fear consuming him…

“Expecto patronum!” he said, voice shaking, but his memory of his friends were fading, his mind going blank, nothing but the sheer terror.

“ _Expecto pat… expecto… expec… ex…”_ and then the screaming filled his ears and he was falling, falling…

***

“Enjolras!” came a frantic voice, seeming very far away. _“Enjolras,_ wake up, come on, wake up!”

“I’m up,” Enjolras mumbled. “I’m awake, did I miss breakfast again...”

“No, you…” the voice was closer now, and Enjolras was vaguely aware of an arm around his shoulders, trying to lift him up. “Enjolras. Please. Open your eyes.”

And the voice was familiar and comforting and so he did, squinting against the light. He wasn’t in his bed. He was in his study nook, and there was the chest with the boggart, and _ah._ He remembered now. And then he looked up… and met concerned eyes.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras croaked, astonished. “How do you know about this place?”

“That’s not important right now,” Grantaire said, relief clear on his face. “Here, sit up. Have some chocolate.”

Enjolras struggled upright, helped by Grantaire, and nibbled on the chocolate that Grantaire pushed towards him. It was nice, filling him with warmth when he hadn't even known he'd been cold.

There was silence for a moment, Grantaire looking like he was itching to say something. Enjolras couldn’t meet his eyes. He hadn’t even told his closest friends about his inability to create a Patronus, and he _knew_ Grantaire didn’t like him and he couldn’t help the flickering of shame. He tried to squash it away. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, it was a hard spell… (but he was a seventh year and he was top of the class and he’s never struggled this much with a spell before and and and…)

“What the fuck, Enjolras,” Grantaire finally burst out. “What the _fuck?”_

“Look,” Enjolras said, hackles rising immediately, turning around to glare at Grantaire. “I know you fucking nailed the Patronus and everything is easy for you but I just can’t-”

“What?” Grantaire said, forehead furrowed with confusion. “What? I don’t care that you can’t do a fucking Patronus. It’s _hard_. Some witches and wizards go their whole lives never casting one.”

Enjolras blinked. “Then what…”

“You brought a Boggart that you _knew_ would turn into a Dementor for you into a private room that no-one knows about without telling any of your friends where you were going? I know Boggart Dementors can’t actually suck out your soul but you _fainted._ What if you’d hit your head? It could have been hours before anyone found you! That was _so_ irresponsible, especially from _you._ You’re always telling us to be more careful- always telling _me_ to be more careful. You’re not exempt!”

“I tell you to be more careful when you _invent spells_ and test them on yourself!” Enjolras said defensively.

“Yeah, and facing up to a Dementor when you can’t produce a Patronus? What were you _thinking?”_

“I was thinking that maybe the actual threat would shock me into producing one,” Enjolras mumbled, realising as he said it how foolish he sounded.

Grantaire scoffed, and Enjolras would be angry but Grantaire had sounded so _worried_ about him. Grantaire had been concerned for his safety. Grantaire had been worried about _him._

“You’re lucky I was here,” Grantaire muttered, and Enjolras frowned, a thought coming to his mind suddenly.

“How _are_ you here?” Enjolras asked, and Grantaire looked away shiftily. “No-one knows about this place, you said so yourself, how do _you_ know about it? And how did you know I brought a Boggart here?”

Grantaire sighed heavily. “If I tell you the truth, you’re not going to like it. I mean, you’re _really_ not going to like it.”

Enjolras glared at him. “Have you been stalking me? Spying on me?”

Grantaire grimaced. “Worse, probably,” he said.

“What do you mean _probably_?” Enjolras snapped, “what are you talking about?”

Grantaire took a deep breath, as if bracing himself. “It’s probably best if I just show you,” he muttered, and before Enjolras could even open his mouth to say something, Grantaire had his wand in his hand.

And then there was a barely perceptible disturbance in the air and then where there had been a short, stocky, dark skinned teenager with a mass of black curls, there was a tiny fluffy black cat. It meowed.

Enjolras’ mouth fell open in shock. He could feel his eyes widening but couldn’t even suppress his astonishment. “You’re an A _nimagus?!”_ he gasped, still gaping, amazed.

The strange feeling came again, almost like the air around the cat- around _Grantaire_ \- was compressing and then releasing, and then Grantaire was standing in front of him again, robes slightly wrinkled, stuffing his wand back into his pocket.

“Umm. Yes,” he said sheepishly, looking down at the ground. “Unregistered, though. So maybe, umm. Don’t tell anyone?”

Enjolras just stared at him. “You’re an _unregistered Animagus?”_

Grantaire smiled, seeming amused by Enjolras’ shock. “Yeah.”

Enjolras became aware that his mouth was still hanging open and closed it with a snap. “What the _fuck,_ ” he said under his breath, and then repeated it, much louder. “What the _fuck?_  How? _Why?”_

Grantaire bit his lip. “Umm. I did it to help a friend. And I can’t be any more specific without breaking their trust but. Yeah. To help a friend.”

“You became an _unregistered Animagus_ to help a friend? That is so dangerous! Not to mention highly illegal!”

Grantaire scoffed. “As dangerous as facing a Dementor you knew you couldn’t fight?”

Enjolras just looked at him, genuinely gobsmacked. “ _Much more so!_ You could have _died!_ You could be _arrested!_  This is _so_ illegal.”

“Pff, it’s fine. It was hard, yeah, but I didn’t do it alone, and it was ages ago anyway. It’s perfectly safe now.”

Enjolras blinked, trying (and failing) to process all of this startling information. First of all, Grantaire, a boy who he’d respected for his wit and intelligence and hated for his lack of drive and focus, was an _unregistered Animagus._ Enjolras had studied Animagi in great detail and he was well aware that becoming an Animagus required incredible focus and commitment, and that just didn’t mesh with the Grantaire he’d thought he knew.

And it would have been incredible enough for seventh-year-Grantaire to be an Animagus, but the words _ages ago_ seemed to suggest that he’d been an Animagus for even longer than that.  When had Grantaire completed the arduous and technically magically difficult and practically impossible feat? When he was in sixth year? Fifth year? And if he was unregistered, then he’d done it without the assistance of someone who was already an Animagus… And _I didn’t do it alone._ Who else was an Animagus?!

He stopped his train of thought right there. Grantaire was clearly hiding things for other people, and Enjolras wouldn’t push. He was astonished enough that the other boy had trusted him with this in the first place. And speaking of…

“Why did you tell me?” he asked, articulating his most urgent thought. “You could have just said that you’d been walking past and had been curious, or something like that. You could have _lied.”_

Grantaire looked uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “I… don’t know.” Enjolras couldn’t decipher his tone. “I guess… I guess I was looking for an opportunity to tell you.”

“But _why?”_ Enjolras asked, startled. “Why would you want to tell me?”

Grantaire laughed bitterly. “Because I’ve been sitting in this room in my cat form for weeks? You asked if I’d been stalking or spying on you and yes, I have been. You didn’t know it was me! I was invading your privacy and your space, and I don’t understand why you aren’t angrier!”

Grantaire’s voice had risen as he’d spoken, until he was practically shouting, and Enjolras finally worked out his tone.

“You were guilty?” he asked, and Grantaire scoffed.

“Of course I was,” he said, not meeting Enjolras’ eye.

Enjolras fell silent, considering Grantaire’s words. The other boy was right- he _wasn’t_ angry. He was still confused and still a bit disorientated and he was _burning_ with more questions to ask… but he wasn't angry. He wanted to ask Grantaire _everything_ , but Grantaire was still staring at his feet and biting his lip, and Enjolras didn't want to make him feel worse.

“When do you study?” Enjolras said instead, picking one of the most innocuous questions. Grantaire finally looked up, brow furrowed. “I mean, the cat- _you_ 're in here almost as much as I am and you do just as many NEWTs as me. When do you study?”

Grantaire smiled ruefully. “I read over your shoulder a lot? And it was great when you started reading stuff out from your books, I know it’s because you learn better when explaining things but that was great, for Potions especially and for the theory in a lot of other subjects? And, well…” he looked away again. “I find it hard to motivate myself to do anything, and being in my Animagus form is soothing, because cats don't really get stressed, and being in my cat form…” Grantaire’s face suddenly twisted, as if struggling with a difficult decision. “Well, cats don't have depression the way we do, so it makes it easier to deal with that.”

Enjolras couldn't think of anything to say. Grantaire, who always seemed so happy and carefree and wild and uncaring, had told him _two_ clearly massive secrets today, and Enjolras wanted to comfort and he didn't know _how_. If it was Courf, he'd need a hug. If it was Ferre, a distraction in the form of a discussion about school work would be best. But Grantaire…

“Did it help, coming here?” he said quietly, and Grantaire nodded, closing his eyes. Enjolras took an instinctive step forwards, arms lifting for a hug before catching himself. _Not now._ “If you want,” he said tentatively, “if you want, you can keep coming here. If it helps. In cat form or otherwise.”

Grantaire glanced up, looking confused. “You wouldn't mind?” he said, his voice breaking, eyes hopeful.

Enjolras smiled. “In cat form, you're very comforting, with the purring and the fluff… and I like you, and I'd like to study together, if you want to.”

Grantaire looked absolutely gobsmacked, which Enjolras didn't quite understand. If anyone should be astonished around here, surely it should be him…

“I’d…” Grantaire cleared his throat. “I’d like that,” he said, and Enjolras beamed.

“Let me know if there's anything specific you want to study, I tend to study the stuff I like and Combeferre is always telling me that that's not good,” he said, and was gratified when Grantaire chuckled.

“I will,” he promised, and then looked at his watch. “We should go now though, it’s late and you _were_ unconscious. I’ve put the Boggart back into its chest, and I can put it back where you got it?”

Enjolras blushed. “I took it from Professor Potter’s classroom,” he muttered, and Grantaire laughed.

“I’ll put it back, and you can go to sleep. You need it.”

Enjolras sighed. “Yeah, that's probably best,” he said, starting to gather his stuff. Grantaire helped, and they packed it up in a companionable silence.

Enjolras stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and looked at Grantaire.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, “thank you for trusting me with this. And please. Please let me know if I can ever help?”

Grantaire smiled and nodded. “Thank _you_ ,” he said, and before Enjolras could protest that he'd done nothing to be thanked for, Grantaire was walking to the door, levitating the chest with the Boggart in it behind him. “I’ll take this back then, so I guess, goodnight. But… but I’ll see you tomorrow? In Potions, and then… will you be here?”

“Yeah,” said Enjolras, “I’ll be here.”

“Goodnight, Enjolras,” Grantaire said, and then he was gone.

***

Over the next couple of weeks, Enjolras was surprised by how little changed. He still went to his little room, still studied and read and panicked- Christmas was getting closer, and for each subject they had a class test, in the last week of term before the holidays. These were relatively informal and not part of their final grade, more an indication so they knew how to improve for their actual NEWTs in May, but Enjolras wanted to do well (of course). And so he spent more time than usual in the little room, and more often than not, Grantaire was there.

Sometimes he was there as the cat, and at first the cat had kept its distance from Enjolras, which had saddened him more than he'd expected. As time passed, though, the cat ( _Grantaire)_ became more relaxed with him again, more affectionate, and Enjolras studied and read out loud and it was familiar and nice and comforting. On those days he was productive.

_Sometimes_ , however, Grantaire would come to the room _not_ in his Animagus form, and that was… different. Enjolras had, of course, studied with Grantaire before. Their year, and especially the NEWT level classes, were small enough that it was impossible not to have at some point. But Enjolras couldn't remember ever studying with Grantaire one-on-one. They'd studied in groups, but this… it wasn’t strange, and that's what was strange about it.

It just felt so natural, studying with Grantaire. They would study in silence, or one of them would quiz the other, or they would work through questions and help each other… and it was nice, and good.

But Enjolras could never focus properly. And he tried to not think too hard about why that was, because down that road was disaster, and he really didn't need that while he was trying to study.

Maybe once these Christmas exams were over, Enjolras would deal with these confusing feelings about Grantaire. (Not that they were feelings. Nope.) Enjolras was staying for Christmas, and so was Grantaire, but most of their friends were going home, and so Enjolras knew that they would be spending time together outside of the study room, outside of their work, and Enjolras was _looking forward to it._

And then the exams were upon them, and Enjolras hardly saw any of his friends, everyone frantically cramming as much knowledge into their heads as they could. His and Grantaire’s study sessions in the little room had devolved into silent, stressful reading of notes and quizzing each other on the subjects that they shared.

Enjolras left his final exam, Ancient Runes, feeling like he might not have done terribly. Most of his friends had finished earlier that morning (Ancient Runes was one of the less-well attended third year elective courses, and the NEWT class only consisted of five people), and so when he went to the Great Hall for dinner, having analysed the paper with his classmates as much as they possibly could, they were all there, sitting together at the Hufflepuff table, sprawling out and laughing and looking significantly more relaxed than they had for weeks.

“Enjolras!” Courfeyrac called, and Enjolras smiled, slipping into the space beside Cosette. She beamed at him, her yellow and black tie askew, and turned back to Éponine, the two of them apparently having an intense conversation about Muggle vs Magical politics.

Marius was next to Éponine, apparently half asleep, head drooping onto his sandwich.  Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta were leaning against each other, talking quietly, and Enjolras couldn’t quite tell, but he was fairly sure none of them was wearing the right colour of tie. Bahorel and Feuilly were apparently having a competition to see which of them could drink more juice without breathing, and Gavroche, who was in a lower year and hadn’t had exams, was egging them on, while Jehan watched with a bemused expression.

Enjolras took a deep breath, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders. Courfeyrac and Combeferre grinned across the table at him, and he smiled, glad to finally be free from exams, to be hanging out with his friends, to not have the constant stress over him. He still felt an anxious need to study, not yet used to _not_ studying, and he imagined he wouldn’t be used to it for a few days, but now he reached for the juice, and a plate of chips, listening to the chatter around him.

The only one missing was Grantaire, but just as Enjolras thought that, the boy in question came stumbling into the Great Hall, slumping down on the bench next to Enjolras and grabbing a handful of chips from Enjolras’ plate, stuffing them all into his mouth. Courfeyrac made a disgusted noise, and Combeferre just laughed.

“Where were you?” Éponine asked, leaning round Cosette to glower at Grantaire. “We were looking for you!”

Grantaire grinned, reaching for a plate of garlic bread. “I was just getting the rest of the stuff for tonight,” he said, and there was a chorus of ‘ooh’s from around the table.

Bahorel spluttered, spilling juice all over himself, and Feuilly crowed with victory, chucking napkins down to clean up the mess. “What have you got?” Bahorel asked, still gasping for breath.

“You’ll just have to wait til tonight to see,” Grantaire smirked, seeing pleased with the air of mystery- at least until Éponine threw a chip at him, and everything very quickly devolved into chaos.

Everyone dispersed fairly soon after that, retreating back to their respective dormitories to get ready for tonight- a party with all the seventh years, a chance to relax after their exams, to blow off some steam…  And yes, to get well and truly plastered. They were holding it in the Room of Requirement- no-one wanted to host it in their common room and risk punishment if they were caught.

Enjolras was secretly pretty sure that the professors knew all about their plans, and were turning a blind eye. The seventh years had worked hard this term, and were (mostly) responsible, and were almost all of age in the magical world anyway, and the teachers probably felt they deserved this. Even Enjolras himself, who rarely drank, could not _wait_ for the party.

And if part of his excitement was for the chance to talk to Grantaire in a setting that wasn’t entirely school-work-related… Well. He wasn’t telling anyone that.

***

It was not even 10pm, and Enjolras was very drunk. He had no excuses for this, although he fully blamed Combeferre, who was usually very responsible when it came to these sorts of parties but had abandoned Enjolras to go make out with Courfeyrac in a corner (the Room of Requirement had produced some squishy couches in the dimly lit edges of the room, apparently sensing that seventh years were exceptionally horny, especially when drunk).

And he _also_ blamed Grantaire, who was wearing Muggle clothes, an unfairly tight t-shirt and jeans, instead of his usual dishevelled baggy shirt and tie, and who had barely glanced Enjolras’ way the whole night, instead talking to _Montparnasse,_ of all people, a Slytherin sixth year who was sneaky enough to make it to the seventh years’ Christmas party.

Enjolras wasn’t jealous, he kept telling himself. He was just lonely. Cosette and Éponine had gone back to Cosette’s dorm, to take advantage of having a bed and an empty room, Éponine had said as she dragged a blushing but happy Cosette away. There was a big group of people playing a rowdy drinking game, which, surprisingly, Jehan seemed to be winning.

And Enjolras, left to his own devices, had been steadily drinking his way through the bowl of fruit punch. Although, he thought muzzily, it was mostly just alcohol with not much fruit juice to speak of. Grantaire’s secret alcohol stash had turned out to be Firewhiskey, some fairly lethal looking vials of what he had said was a magic infused vodka, various Muggle spirits, and some Butterbeer for those who didn’t drink. The Hufflepuffs had brought food from the kitchens, and all in all it was a great party. The Room was playing music, Christmas songs from both the Muggle and Magical world, and most people were drunk. Everyone was having a good time.

Except Enjolras, who was watching Grantaire, and drinking his punch. He closed his eyes and sighed.

He wasn’t quite sure when he’d realised that his friendly feelings for Grantaire had become something more. They’d been friends for years, ever since Courf, Ferre and Enjolras had started their impromptu study group which grew to contain a quarter of the year group. They’d got along, but never spent too much time just talking- until the incident with the Boggart, since Grantaire told Enjolras his biggest secrets, since Enjolras and Grantaire started studying together.

But Enjolras definitely couldn’t deny it anymore. He had a major crush on Grantaire, and he was _pining_ , and it was _horrible._

Someone cleared their throat, and Enjolras opened his eyes, startled out of his reverie, to see Grantaire, standing over him. Speak of the devil. “Can I sit here?” he asked, gesturing to the seat beside Enjolras, and Enjolras nodded, trying to fight back the blush that always crept on him when he was around Grantaire.

“It’s not that bad a party, is it?” Grantaire asked, bumping his shoulder against Enjolras’.

“No, it’s good,” Enjolras said, enunciating each word carefully. “I just didn’t want to play that game. I like this punch, though.” He took another drink, feeling the blush high on his cheeks, and hoping Grantaire would assume it was a result of the alcohol.

“How much have you had?” Grantaire laughed, taking a gulp from his own cup.

Enjolras shrugged. “Lots,” he said, his brow furrowing as he thought. “Five?”

Grantaire cursed under his breath. “Enj, there’s like six bottles of booze in that, you should stop.”

Enjolras frowned, and then downed his drink, smiling smugly at Grantaire, who laughed as if he couldn’t help himself.

“You should smile more,” Enjolras said without thinking. “You have a beautiful smile.”

Grantaire paused with his drink halfway to his mouth, and Enjolras felt his face go even redder, if that was possible, but then, to his vague horror, heard himself continue speaking.

“You’re just very beautiful all around really, and you’re smart and clever and you have such a nice face and it’s not fair and I-” and then he forced himself to stop, covering his mouth with his hand.

Grantaire was staring at him, a gobsmacked look on his face, and Enjolras leapt to his feet, knocking over his empty cup.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, and then he fled.

***

“I’m never drinking again,” Musichetta groaned, her head on the table, and there were scattered sounds of agreement from the various seventh years hunched around the Ravenclaw table. It was a Friday, but the seventh years had no classes, since their exams were finished. Months of waking up for breakfast at 8am, however, had conditioned them all, and some of them had braved hangovers to inhale coffee and pancakes (which were usually a treat, so presumably the House Elves had known about their party and pitied their headaches).

Enjolras was on his second cup of coffee, but hadn’t been able to face food yet, and was sipping away at the sweet black coffee gratefully. The rest of the pupils had headed off to their classes, and the Great Hall was almost empty, bar their little knot of friends, some other seventh years nursing hangovers, and Madame Pomfrey and Professor Potter, who seemed to be engaged in a heated game of Exploding Snap at the staff table.

Combeferre was beside him, silently working his way through a stack of pancakes smothered in chocolate sauce, and even Courfeyrac was uncharacteristically quiet.  From what Enjolras had heard, after he’d left, the party had gotten rather out of hand- at least one person had passed out (a Gryffindor, after a drinking contest. Not all House stereotypes were exaggerated), and it had eventually wound to a close at around 2am. Enjolras was surprised _anyone_ had made it to breakfast.

“Don’t you all look very chipper!” came a voice- Éponine, sounding infuriatingly refreshed, with Cosette and Grantaire in tow. Cosette also looked very much not-hungover (Enjolras vaguely remembered her and Éponine leaving early), whereas Grantaire looked rough, dark circles under his eyes. Enjolras blushed at the sight of him, looking down at his coffee.

The three of them sat down, Grantaire reaching instantly for toast, liberally coating it in jam. Cosette poured herself and Éponine a mug of tea, and Éponine spooned out two bowls of porridge. It was disgustingly domestic, and Jehan seemed to agree, throwing an apple at them. Éponine caught it effortlessly, dropping it into the fruit bowl in front of her.

“You all look awful,” Cosette said, sounding concerned, and Éponine laughed, the sound loud and painful.

“The idiots deserve it,” Éponine said, and Courfeyrac raised his head, scowling at her.

“Well sorry, not all of us can just leave and get laid,” he said, and Cosette blushed, but smiled at Éponine.

“What excuse do Joly and Chetta and Bossuet have, then?” Grantaire asked, mouth full of toast, pointing down the table, at Bossuet, who seemed to have his head in a bowl of cereal.

“They’re idiots,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire looked over at him, and smiled, and Enjolras felt himself flush, remembering all the stupid things he’d said while drunk.

“I have to go,” he muttered, and downed the dregs of his coffee, leaping to his feet and leaving the Great Hall as quick as he could without actually running, cursing his idiocy even as he fled.

He was halfway across the Entrance Hall when he heard someone shout his name, and he turned despite himself, to see Grantaire at the door, looking out of breath.

“Enjolras!” he said, and then grimaced at the noise. “Enjolras, wait!”

Enjolras considered running again, but then Grantaire was in front of him, breathing heavily, wearing scruffy clothes and generally looking like death warmed up.

“Enjolras, I-”

“No, you don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable- ”

“No, that’s not what I was-”

“We can just pretend it didn’t happen, I won’t-”

_“Enjolras-”_

“I’ll just leave, it’s fine-” but as Enjolras turned to leave, Grantaire grabbed his arm, and then they were kissing.

Enjolras had imagined this kiss for much longer than he cared to admit. But now, feeling the softness of Grantaire’s lips against him, he was so startled that he didn’t kiss back, and Grantaire pulled away far too soon.

Enjolras stared at the other boy, gobsmacked. Grantaire was shorter than Enjolras, but only just, and Grantaire’s face was so close to Enjolras’, and Enjolras wanted to kiss him again.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire said, looking unsure of himself. “I just… what you said yesterday, I just…  did you mean it?”

Enjolras felt himself flush again. “I don’t… really remember exactly what I said, I was so drunk...”

“Oh.” Grantaire’s face fell, and he bit his lip.

“No!” Enjolras hurried to reassure him. “I mean... I don’t remember what I said, but I… I definitely meant it.”

Grantaire looked unconvinced, and Enjolras searched for the words to say, determined not to screw this up.

“I like you,” he blurted out, and then cursed himself. He was more eloquent than _this,_ for Merlin’s sake.

Grantaire blinked, still looking doubtful.

“I _really_ like you,” Enjolras said, desperately. “You’re smart and kind and wonderful and I’ve loved spending time with you and the number of times I’ve wanted to kiss you when we’ve been studying in that room is ridiculous and I don’t know what I said last night but I remember it being very sappy and it’s true, it’s all true, and I just-”

And then he stopped talking, because Grantaire was kissing him again, and this time, Enjolras kissed him back.

Enjolras wasn’t sure how long they kissed for, but when they finally parted, Grantaire’s hands were on his waist and Enjolras’ hands were in Grantaire’s hair.

“Will you go out with me?” Grantaire said, and Enjolras chuckled

“Yes, please,” he breathed, and kissed Grantaire again, just a soft brush, feeling Grantaire’s lips curve into a smile.

“Woohoo!”

Enjolras and Grantaire broke apart as someone cheered, turning to see Courfeyrac at the door of the Great Hall, beaming at them.

“You finally did it, guys,” he said, and then leaned back into the Great Hall, shouting at the others to come see.

Combeferre was first, smiling as he saw Grantaire and Enjolras still with their arms around each other, and then Éponine, who swore loudly.

“Couldn’t you guys have waited til January?” she scowled. “I had five Sickles on it.”

Cosette appeared behind her girlfriend and smirked, poking Éponine in the side. “Told you,” she said smugly, and Enjolras laughed, at his friends and at himself and everything.

Grantaire was in his arms, and his friends were here, and he had three full weeks off of school.

He was happy.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kissing to stop someone speaking is usually a Bad trope but in this case they're both into it so I will allow it.  
> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/holIyshort) -come and say hi!


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